The Elven Guild
by bakerdp112
Summary: The beginning to the story of the rise of nationalism on the island of Vvardenfell


Chapter 1 – The Acolyte

The Road

Wet, muddy, and downtrodden, Ulkan sulked as he plodded along the winding road before him. Though normally quite beautiful, with the foothills of the famous Red Mountain to the north, and the exquisite Lake Amaya to the south, the path from Pelagiad to Suran was partially flooded at this time of the year, making travel anything but easy. Ulkan had heard that this route was part of the Pilgrimage of the Seven Graces, though he never had time for religious matters. In fact, he never had had time for much at all, until his father had been injured by a wild Gaur, and his family had to move from their quiet farm to Balmora to find work.

Work, he thought. Ulkan wished that would come easy, but it never did. Times in the Empire had never been worse, and jobs were becoming rarer by the minute, at least, so he had heard. Political matters had never interested Ulkan, but sometimes a man would do anything for that next meal on the table. Since his family's financial troubles, he had become the primary breadwinner, and was always looking for work, doing odd jobs here and there. He'd applied to the Fighter's Guild, though they'd turned him down. Apparently his skills as a farmhand did not interest those venerable warriors.

The road turned up ahead. A patch of pink heather crowned a hill just off the path, and it looked like the clouds would be breaking soon. "Finally, some luck!" Ulkan exclaimed aloud. He took a deep breath, inhaling the warm, moist air, almost sensing a breeze coming in over the lake. The sparse trees partially obscured his view, yet still he could feel the lake's presence. He moved a bit faster now, a bit of a spring in his step, perhaps in anticipation of the eventually completion of his task, and the reward that would be to follow.

Ulkan had fared no better with the Mage's Guild, though he felt their assessment a bit unfair; his skills with potions and remedies were not lacking. His father forbade him from taking up with the Thieves' guild, or any of the other seeder groups that inhabited the Balmora underground. Still, without a Guild paying out regular jobs, or even unregular jobs for the matter, things were looking dire for the family. They had sold many of their prized possessions, and lived from meal to meal. Ulkan was getting desperate, at least until he found the Elven Guild, Yakhsanzeth. The first branch of the guild outside of Ald'ruhn, Ulkan did not pretend to understand Yakhsanzeth, or what it meant to be an elven guild. He just knew they were looking for Dunmer and paying out septims.

Ulkan brushed his dark hair from his eyes. A faint smell of cooking meat and smoke hung in the air. "People," he thought. Ulkan didn't care too much for the company of others. He had never had very many friends, and mostly kept to himself at home. Still, the prospect of sharing a fire and chasing the damp feeling out of his clothes outweighed the unpleasantness of conversation. He bowed his head once more and trudged on.

. . . . . .

Fire and Words

"Hail traveler!" said the large man, his face obscured by the shadows thrown by the fire. It had fallen dark quickly, as it was common at this time of year, and Ulkan had to pick his way carefully in the flickering light. Meeting travelers on the road had become common since troubles had hit Morrowind. People of all walks banded together, sharing food, fire, and words. Ulkan had never been further from his home until now, yet he'd heard stories as he'd hung around the taverns and ale houses, searching for work. He knew he was supposed to share his meat and company.

"Well met, Outlander," said Ulkan from the dark. "I have meat and bread if you'll have it."

"Yes! Welcome friend, we could use some good cheer," said the large man's companion, his face coming into full view as Ulkan sat down by the fire. "What is your name, traveler? I am Perastyr, and my hairy associate here is Jurgeld."

"Har! Watch yourself there, Breton. My people take our hair very seriously!" said Jurgeld, laughing heartily.

Ulkan was surprised by the odd pair, the Nords and Bretons aren't normally seen in close company. "I am Ulkan, thank you both for your kindness. I have not met anyone for a few days now, and I could use some warmth."

"Isn't that true!" yelled Jurgeld. "I haven't felt warm for weeks, not with the rains we've been having!"

Perastyr added, "Yes indeed, the road is not well traveled. We hope to make it soon to Ft. Pelagiad. Do you come from that way?"

"No," replied Ulkan. "I am from Balmora, though I did pass by Pelagiad two days ago."

"Ah good," said the Nord. "I couldn't last more the another week in these parts. We Nords can't stand this moist, damp feeling in our bones. Give us a good, cold snow, and my mead hall!"

"What brings you this way," asked the Breton.

"I have business in Suran," replied Ulkan hesitantly. He was not sure he should share much at all with these outlanders. He didn't even really understand what he was doing. This elven guild was a mystery to him, but they were paying good money to send him to Suran and back, and the delivery promised to be easy.

Ulkan set his shoulder pack behind him, take care to keep its contents safe and unrevealed. He and his new companions ate, sharing what food they had to make what could pass for a decent meal, using the fire to chase the damp away. Ulkan sat mostly silent, while the big blusterous Nord regaled them with stories of his times in the wild of Solstheim. Ulkan, though uneasy, soon drifted closer and closer to sleep.

. . . . . .


End file.
